


Restacking the Deck

by DarkShadeless



Series: SWTOR - collection [21]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: (it gets better), Aka Pierce and Quinn’s GREAT interpersonal relationship, But also the crew motherhen, Crack, Enemies to accomplices to kind-of-friends (if you squint), Gen, I don’t know how this keeps happening, It gets a bit rough there for a bit, Light extortion, Mentions of systematic drug use in the Imperial military, Pierce being an arsehole, Somehow, The Quinn-cident, With serious spots, absolute crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22271953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Pierce was never terribly interested in having a family. Wife, couple of brats… eh. He’s a perpetual bachelor and that’s the way he likes it. Being responsible for his men while they’re on deployment is more than enough.Yeah, that lasts right up until he gets picked up by a damned teenager on Taris.Or: The one where Pierce meets the Sith Warrior before Quinn does and realizes he is the only goddamned adult on this ship. Well, fuck.
Relationships: Lt. Pierce & Malavai Quinn
Series: SWTOR - collection [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/906084
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	Restacking the Deck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doomhamster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomhamster/gifts).



> Re: The conversation we had a little while ago.
> 
> So, I’ve been struggling for a long time to make sense of the SW team dynamic for me, because I couldn’t slot Pierce into it. Aaaaand then this happened and now I’ve found a way I’m not sure I can unsee.  
> Aka: What would have happened if Pierce had joined the crew before Quinn? The answer may surprise a few people, Pierce among them.  
> Have fun XD

Pierce has no illusions about why Moff Hurdenn dumps him in a Sith's lap but he couldn't give less of a shit. It gets him shod of the dead end hellhole that is Taris and the pretty much the entire Imperial military hierarchy in one go. Win-win. What’s not to like?

Now, don't get him wrong, he's fine getting his hide tanned for glory, Emperor and a halfway decent pay check. Seriously, can you see him behind a desk? He can't either.

In his experience though most officers that make it past lieutenant are bloody useless, baring a few (very few) exceptions. The less he has to deal with idiots thinking they know what’s what, when they can't tell the business end of a rifle from their own dick, the better. He gets the job done. That ought to be enough, right?

Lord Sar seems to be on the same page there, so that's nice. He looks the soft skinned aristocrat brat but he's got the same fire under his ass Pierce does, the kind that has you pushing, pushing, pushing until something breaks and never lets up. Like him Sar laughs in the face of danger, an adrenaline junky to the core.

He can get behind that. They'll get along just fine.

Full disclosure, Pierce does have to clean up his act a little so he doesn't step on his lordship's toes. Nothing he can't handle.

Or so he _thinks_. Oh, ye with no idea what you’re signing up for.

By the time they come down dirtside on Balmorra six months later Pierce has barrelled right through the part where he wanted to _chew his own beard_ and come down somewhere around fatalistic acceptance.

How. Seriously. _How and why_. Pierce makes a concentrated effort not to groan and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

"Pardon me sayin' so, m'lord, but I think you're gonna have to have that looked at."

Yon, and somewhere along the line Sar became 'Yon', at least in his head, right about when Pierce realized how screwed he was, and yes, _Yon_ takes the time out of his busy day tinkering with his backup lightsaber to glance over the _gaping cut_ on his arm. It looks like he took on a trash compactor barehanded, lost and then glued the scratches shut with a few kolto strips when they wouldn't stop bleeding everywhere.

For all Pierce knows that's exactly what happened. It's not out of the realm of the possible. His boss sure didn’t look like that at breakfast _two hours ago_.

Yon shrugs. "Vette checked it out. It's fine."

It is very much _not fine_. "Med bay, m'lord. _Now_."

You see, Pierce isn't big on babying anyone but these kids - and they're _kids_ , Emperor have mercy who put them in charge of their own damned ship? - point being, they’re good kids but Vette and Yon together make about one halfway functional person. He has no idea where they learned basic survival skills but they're terrible at it.

Not in, you know, actual wilderness. They're _fine_ where Pierce recons other people would die by inches (or really, really fast). Whether you're talking uncharted jungles, the slums of Nar Shaddaa or a Kaas high society dinner party, they’ve got it handled, and they're _great_ in a firefight but… taxes? Grocery shopping? _Reasonable measures of first aid_?

All of that is right out and he has no idea how whomever should have prevented this let it happen. He's the only adult on this godsdamned ship. 

The droid doesn't count.

So, much as he would rather gargle glass than invite himself a superior officer onto his new cushy detail, especially the kind that likes things by the book and just so… when Yon comes back from his Balmorran after-action report with a captain in tow, Pierce does not immediately point out that the bootlicker is too slick to be true.

Not to his lordship’s face, at least.

“So. _Captain_.” At the console at the far side of the bridge Quinn goes stiff in the shoulders. No surprise there, he’s not stupid, stuck-up but not stupid. Slowly, he turns to face Pierce, expression unreadable. Pierce catches the way his eyes flicker over him and the only exit just fine. Smart cookie. 

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” He sounds just this side of icy and superior. 

Yeah, they’re gonna clear _that_ up right quick. “I’ll be candid, shall I?” Pierce lets the words roll of his tongue like syrup. Puts up Quinn’s hackles something fierce, not that he shows it too much. It’s all in the eyes. “His lordship doesn’t give a shit about ranks. Doesn’t have to, y’see? Anything under a General doesn’t even ping his radar.” Honestly, if Pierce gave a crap about that kind of thing that would be a little insulting. Hah. Good thing he doesn’t. “Doubt he has bothered noticing that you’re _technically_ supposed to be in charge of me. How about we don’t give him a reason to start thinking that through, hm?”

Quinn is standing at attention but Pierce would take any bet that he is clenching his fists behind his back. His jaw is set so firmly he’s surprised he doesn’t hear him grind his teeth. He can _see_ the calculations flash through his mind. Yeah, technically he is in charge, but would their Sith give a fuck? Would he come out on top in the ranking if they start playing ‘Who is teacher’s favorite pet’?

Probably not. Not fresh off the tarmac.

Pierce knows a bit better, not that he’ll let that on. Yon likes to be fair. He’s not actually sure which of them would make the distance if they picked a fight and the referee came calling but… not the first time he has taken a gamble on a bluff. 

And it pays off. After a few moments of tense silence Quinn breaks their staring contest, mouth pinched. “Understood.”

“Long as we’re on the same page. Captain.” Emperor as his witness, watching the muscle in Quinn’s cheek jump ever so slightly every time he says that will not get old quick. With the most important thing out of the way, Pierce gives his opponent a bit of rope, leans against the helmsman’s seat. Not enough to leave the door accessible but… a little. Just a bit. Carrot and stick. “I hear you’re a medic.”

Quinn’s face is entirely blank, locked up tight. “Yes.” Disgust creeps into his voice, at the edges. “Fine. Just leave me a list-“

‘ _Oh my stars, I’ve really got you, haven’t I?_ ’ He can’t help it. Pierce bellows a laugh that makes his new crew buddy cringe before he can hide it. “Nah. None of that. I’m not a junky.” Not any more than they all are. Everyone needs a little pick me up sometimes, if they’re expected to hold a line for days on end. That’s what stims are _for_. “Do you cook too?”

 _That_ hits a nerve. Quinn flushes with rage. Look at that. Maybe there’s some fight in this one after all, despite him being half a non-combatant. “I’m not your _maid_.”

Pierce chuckles, taking a sweeping look at the captain’s pristine uniform. “Coulda fooled me.” He is hella tempted to just let him seethe and enjoy the view but he has an actual point here. Sadly, the mission always comes first. “Cool your jets. I’ve got a vested interest in keeping this crew alive and I figure so do you.” As much fun as it is to mess with Quinn, especially now that he has the upper hand, his grin slips away slowly. “Let me detail our situation for you. Those,” he almost says kids. Almost. “Two out there, they’d eat junk food and MRE’s all day every day and that’s if we’re lucky. I’m not even kidding. Last month his lordship lost his rations mid-engagement and what did he do?”

The memory alone has Pierce choking down the urge to hurl. “Did he track back to resupply? Did he shit. He spent two weeks chowing on _irradiated bugs_ roasted over an open fire. By the time he got back he should’ve glowed in the dark.”

To his credit, Quinn looks almost as disturbed as Pierce feels. He will learn. “I burn fucking water and I am sick and tired of that droid’s nutrition paste but at least nobody’s caught scurvy yet. So. Do you cook?”

Yeah, captain or no captain, Pierce needs all the help he can get and he doesn’t get it a day too soon. Two planets later his lordship starts bringing home converted baby Jedi like they’re lost pets. They’re not literal babies but they don’t exactly _lift_ their crew’s collective maturity if you know what Pierce is going for here. 

Okay, that’s not completely fair. Jaesa is an angel and halfway self-sufficient. She can at the very least be trusted to not _feed herself garbage_. Emperor’s sweaty socks.

And then it turns out Quinn is just as bad as the rest of them. 

Pierce stares at the figure slumped over their tactical station with what he would dearly like to claim is disgust. It’s actually something a lot closer to complete and utter lack of surprise. Why would anyone on this damned ship be able to take care of their own fucking self for five minutes?

He turns his back _once_ and then suddenly its three days later and he has to switch someone’s adrenal-spiked kaf for decaffeinated sludge before they run themselves into the ground on a work binge.

“Quinn, I kriffing swear. Go to bed.”

“I… I need to finish this.”

Pierce rolls his eyes heavenwards. What has he ever done to deserve this? No amount of bloody murder and insubordination should be enough. “What did Vette ask you for half an hour ago, _Captain_?”

It takes the man and his usually impeccable memory a solid five minutes to dredge that up. Then… “Shit!” He shoves himself upright so fast he gets a head rush and wavers on his feet. Yeeesh. He really went for it this time, huh? 

“Relax.”

“But-“

“I confiscated it. Sit down before you fall down, you genius.” Yeah, safe bet that when their captain starts handing out heavy-ordnance access like candy so people will stop bothering him they’ve left the lands of sane and rational decisions behind.

Pierce is the only reliable person in this entire _quadrant_.

* * *

Safe to say that all in all Pierce’s job does not turn out how he expected but… it’s alright. He gets all the action he wants, just like it said on the tin and sometimes a bit more. Eh. That’s life.

With time they all grow up a bit. It’s strangely rewarding, especially when he catches himself five years down the line stifling a chuckle over how far his lord has come as a commanding officer. He’s one of the good ones, who gives an actual shit about the soldiers under his command, and has the britches now to pour that fire he carries around into them and mean it. Maybe Pierce had a tiny little hand in getting him there and wouldn’t that be something? Look at him, a true backbone of the Empire. Yeah, he is pretty content with his lot in life. 

Of course that’s around when things go to shit. 

Kriffing Quinn. Godsdamned kriffing Quinn, Emperor take it. Five fucking years they’ve held this thing together and just when you think you can count on someone they go and shoot your commander in the back. Or _try to_ and _fail miserably_ in a cronking embarrassment of an attempted assassination. 

It’s a wonder they manage to get through Corellia without anything worse than minor damage to the Fury. 

Pierce finds him in a bar when he goes looking, of all places. _Quinn_. In a _bar_. The guy is allergic to fun and would probably fall over if someone removed the stick from his arse and here he is, already three sheets to the wind.

Void-spawned druk. What a time to be alive and saddled with morons. 

Pierce wastes a few minutes just staring before he parks his arse. Yeah. Wow. “What the hell, Quinn.”

The Captain’s hunches over his drink and doesn’t say a damned thing. Well, if it’s gonna be like that… somehow Pierce can’t quite find the vein of anger he’d need to lay into him. He’s just _tired_. Angry, yes, but so tired. “What are you even doing here?”

Quinn flinches under the half-accusation as if it’s the kick to the balls he deserves. “I…” He trails off. There’s something so lost about him and suddenly Pierce _is_ pissed. Drinking his sorrows away. Picture that.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? You fucked us over!” _You fucked **me** over. You screwed our lord and I thought we were on the same page for at least **one thing**._ “And you expected he’d take you back just like that? This isn’t a _game_.”

Quinn lifts his glass in trembling fingers and finishes his rotgut in one go. 

“Nothing to say for yourself? Huh?” Pierce grits his teeth. Bastard isn’t even looking at him. Hasn’t looked him in the damned eye since it happened. As if he’s not worth his time. 

The thought makes him laugh, short and harsh. “I should have bloody known. Captain.” Quinn swallows heavily. Serves him right. “ _Say something_ , damn you.”

Maybe Pierce isn’t the only one hitting their limit tonight. For the first time since he tried to off their lord in the most hare-brained scheme Pierce has ever seen him slap together, Quinn raises his head and looks straight at him. His blue eyes flash with the first hints of a snit. “What do you want me to say? You’ve already made up your mind!”

“Tell me bloody _why_ at least!" He thought they had a good thing going. Sure, they had their rough patches and some of their missions weren't quite this side of crazy but it worked, didn't it? 

Or at least it did until Malavai kriffing Quinn threw a wrench in the works big enough to bust the place. _Well done_.

And then he didn't even have the balls to say-

"You know what Baras did for me!" Alcohol has stripped Quinn not only of his stick-straight posture but a touch of his coordination too. His hands are shaking just a bit. _That's_ not the drink, though. Pierce is starting to get the post-battle jitters too. What a thing to pour a couple shots on. Pf, no wonder Quinn's a mess. "After- after Broysc. He saved me. If it wasn't for him I would have had _nothing_ -"

"Oh, come on." Pierce cuts in, derision dripping from every syllable. "Your _career_. Your _commission_. I can't fucking hear it anymore. Are you serious? He put you in a box until he could burn you up. The entire garrison on Balmorra was dead in the water."

There are some posts that might as well be a coffin, especially if you don't swing a transfer after a year or two. Like Pierce's rank along with his file, anyone who can read between the lines looks at that shit and knows you're a problem that managed to be useful enough not to end up on a court martial.

Aren't they a cozy little crew of malcontents?

"Wake up, Quinn. He used you like a rag. End of story."

The bartender that found something incredibly important to do at the other end of the bar the second Pierce frowned his way twitches when Quinn’s fist hits the counter. … that's gonna bruise.

The thought is kriffing reflexive and Pierce needs a _drink_.

Quinn stares into his glass mulishly. "He got me a transfer out. Eventually."

It's a weak retort at best. "So you could spy for him. On a _Sith_." Pierce lets that hang between them. "Baras didn't do fuck all for you." 

But someone else did, didn't they? Entirely fed up, Pierce grinds his teeth so hard his jaw aches. "Actually, let's talk about your _career_. Who gave that a boost, hm? Introduce you around a lot, Baras, did he? Give you a hit of that nice vitamin C?" That Pierce doesn't give a rat's ass about the game doesn't mean he doesn't know how it's played. He has been in this business since he was old enough to enlist. 

"He forgot you in a drawer til you were the pawn he needed. But I hear last time you met Admiral Ranken she remembered your damn name. How did that happen?"

Quinn wraps his hands around his empty tumbler with a look like he'd dearly like to polish Pierce’s mug. Or maybe get his own banged up. Bit of a toss up but they could two for one it, he’d bet. "Shut up."

Pierce scoffs. "That all you can come up with?" Watching this whole disaster, the aftermath, and trying to pick up the pieces has left its mark. He’s kriffing done. Especially since a few things about this fall into well-worn groves. “Didn't our lord get you that promotion you wanted, too? Signed it off with a smile and told you you deserved it, what was it? Two months before you tried to shoot him in the head? How’s that for loyalty.”

Pierce keeps an eye out for the waiter while Quinn stews in that. Nothing their pretty boy hasn't told himself, he recons. _Should have_ if he didn't. 

Takes a bit before he can convince the lovely thing making her rounds to stop pretending she doesn't see the Imps on the verge of having a falling out but he gets there. 

Say what you will about Corellians but they know their brandy.

Sometime between his first sip and the last, Quinn finally manages to scrape enough braincells together to add two and two and get that Pierce ain't leaving. Maybe even that he isn't stupid enough to buy his load of druk. Miracles do happen.

Quietly, as if he hopes Pierce will miss it, he whispers, "I didn't think he would win."

Is that it, what's been hiding under all of his justifications? Pierce huffs in disbelief. _'Savin' your skin, were ya?_ ' Of all things. "Boy, you bet on the wrong speeder. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one between the two of us?"

The laugh that jars from Quinn's throat is so raw it can barely be called that. For an uncomfortable moment Pierce has to consider if the bastard is actually going to bawl. 

Quinn. Of all of them. _Quinn_. 

Their gig is nice, sure. Best thing that ever happened to Pierce. If it imploded on him tomorrow? He'll manage. Quinn, though? He's _gone_ on their commander, not that he has noticed, looks like.

What an idiot. How can you be so out of touch with your gut you shoot yourself straight in the foot?

"I made a mistake." Miserable and hushed, as if it’s a secret. Might as well shout it from the rooftops. Anyone who matters already knows.

Pierce takes in Quinn's slumped shoulders, the helpless dejection he's hiding less well than he'd probably like and sighs. "No shit."

He flags down the bartender and buys them both another round. "You realize you're not gonna find your solution at the bottom of that bottle, right? And you’d better hurry that up."

There's a long pause. Quinn makes an attempt anyway. When he comes up for air his glass is empty again. At the rate he is going Pierce is going to have to _carry_ him back. Oh joy.

"I’m _trying_. He didn't even… notice. I thought- but he didn’t."

And here they have it, the entire thing that has their captain out here, lost in the sauce. He had thought it might have been _that_ that finally drove home how very deeply Quinn had screwed himself.

When they hit Corellia, their lord had taken Pierce, going down. Probably because this was literally one of the bullet points on his damned bucket list. Bloody dream of a mission, putting one of the heart worlds of the Republic through the wringer and planting their banner. Pierce had nearly shed a tear at the end there.

But he wasn't the only one who saw some action and even second hand over a crappy holo-comm. connection it was kriffing obvious Quinn was busting his ass. Picture perfect, as always, only better. No matter what Quinn says, his lordship _noticed_. Must have. Always does. Maybe that’s the worst of it.

When they got back their lord had barely given him a glance.

Oh, he had been nice about it, all bland smiles and 'well done'. Like a congratulatory letter addressed 'to whom it may concern'.

"Hate to break it to you but he might have taken that whole murder attempt a tad personally."

"Fuck you." Pierce barely registers that as an insult Quinn sounds so kriffing tired. "What do you even want from me? What do you care?"

"I don't." Emperor's mercy how he wishes that was true. "And I want you to take good hard look at your future, Quinn."

Also, he’d like for him to not get himself shanked. They might have won but this is occupied territory. You never know.

Pierce finishes his drink and relishes in the burn. Like he's dragging that out, he drawls, "He's going to keep you at arm's length for a few weeks, I’d say. Find you a nice little post on some backwater world, maybe somewhere where you'll even do some good, advance the Empire. Then he'll drop you and he'll forget about you and once it gets around that his lordship, the _Wrath_ , parked your ass in the middle of nowhere it'll be Balmorra all over again. For good."

Quinn goes paler with every word. Hard to say if that's fear or rage. Leaves him looking sick either way.

Good. He's finally paying attention. He needs a wake-up call and it can’t come soon enough. "It's not going to work, Quinn. No matter how hard you try. Got him that way once, being his perfect little soldier and when he lapped it up it turned out you were feeding him shit. Do you really think he’s gonna buy in a second time?"

From the moment they met their captain had always given as good as he got. Pierce liked that about him even when he would have gladly shoved him out of an airlock. Now, though?

He makes a good show of it but Pierce can see how that strikes home. If Quinn had less of a spine he’d fold like cardboard. The trembling in his hands has grown worse. By Ziost’s shadow, he’s a sorry sight.

“Is that why you’re here? To gloat?” Proud to the end, even if he has gone hoarse with whatever he’s feeling that he tried and failed to drown. He even manages a sneer. Kudos.

Pierce blows out a breath. If there was any justice in the galaxy he _would be_ out of fucks to give. Goes to show, huh. “You know it.” He dumps his glass on the counter and reaches over to wind Quinn’s out of his grip before he breaks it and they need to find a medic for a couple stitches who isn’t drunk off his arse. “If that’s what you think you’ve had more than enough.”

It takes a moment before Quinn has made sense of his empty hands. By the time he has his bearings somewhat in order Pierce is up and on the best way of dragging him out of his seat.

“Get your hands off me!“ Hah. Nice try. Pierce ducks his flailing and boosts his arm over his shoulder. He really does have to carry him the first few steps, owing more to the captain fighting him than his blood alcohol level.

Thankfully he doesn’t weigh a damn thing.

The bouncer looks him straight in the eye when he comes past and doesn’t say a word. Lovely chap. Looks like Pierce had the right of it. Better drop a hint or two about the crew pairing up on outings.

“I swear, if you punch me in the face I’m dropping you on your arse, Quinn, and then you can scrape yourself out of the gutter.” Would serve him right.

“I’m not going to be _manhandled_ by a- by a-“ he breaks off, jaw working furiously. At least the fresh air has chased some color back into his cheeks. Or maybe that’s just him being pissed. He still manages to look half-dead. Wonderful.

Pierce gives him a look. “What was that?” Because he will drop him. He swears on his grandmother’s grave, not that she’s croaked yet.

Quinn stares back, bull-headed as always. His hair, come out of that perpetual coif of his, is plastered to his forehead with sweat. “ _Unhand_ me, Lieutenant.”

Mmhm. As if that has ever worked. “Get right around to that, shall I, sir? Emperor’s glory, you look like shit.” Quinn’s fight lasts him less than ten steps and then he’s so much dead weight. Pierce would take any bet that if he let go he’d land on his face.

Maybe he knows it too, going by the way his fingers are digging into Pierce’s shoulder.

The night is quiet, as quiet as it ever is in a city like Coronet. A bit too quiet. The faint thump of music isn’t near enough to drown out his company. Pierce manfully pretends Quinn is trying not to puke. The alternative is way out of the range of things he wants to deal with.

… damn it.

“Come on. Your transfer isn’t written yet. Still got some time.”

Quinn chokes out a laugh that does nothing for Pierce’s comfort zone. “Oh, really? That’s rich. Are you already tired of kicking me while I’m down?” He’s slurring his words a bit, like the alcohol is hitting him just now. Could be exhaustion too. They’ve all been up for more than a few hours past their bedtime. Either way it makes him sound done in. “You’re right. There’s nothing I can do to- to fix this, is there? I-“ Even through his armour Pierce can feel the full-body shudder that wracks him just fine. That’s no good. “Fuck. What am I going to do?”

Wow. They’ve really hit rock bottom, haven’t they? Thankfully, Pierce has an answer to _that_. For such a hotshot his captain can sure be a moron sometimes.

“Stars, Quinn. It’s not rocket science. You’re going to sleep this off,” he gives Quinn a light shake, “and in six to eight hours, when the last of the stims are out of your system cold-turkey and your hangover is the worst you’ve ever had, you’re going to finger comb your hair, crawl to our lord and tell him how very sorry you are. And then you’ll beg for another chance.” His habitual growl drops to a grumble that is less unkind than he’d like. “And if you look half as pathetic as you do now, he’ll give it to you.”

Quinn has given up on trying to see where he’s putting his feet. He’s limp in his grip, looking up at him and the last bit of his composure, which wasn’t much, let’s face it, is flaking like bad make-up.

He looks _vulnerable_ , trapped, that’s what he does, and Pierce hates it with all of his being that isn’t busy having an allergic reaction to this entire situation. If he looks too closely he might see the tear tracks on his face so he doesn’t.

Quinn’s mouth opens and closes a few times. That’s about all the answer Pierce expected. “Balmorra, Quinn. Another shot, or your pride. You can have either but not both.”

His eyes flicker over Pierce’s face. He doesn't know what he expects, to tell him he's joking or what but he's really, really not. After a little while Quinn swallows heavily.

Thing is, and they both know it, he’d rather actually shoot himself in the foot than do any of that, especially in front of his lordship. _That_ is why it will look like he means it. After what he pulled? Nothing else is gonna cut it.

Their lord isn’t going to make this decision with his head, or rather Quinn should _hope_ he won’t. Ditching him, that would be the smart thing. He’s going to have to make Yon make a dumbass decision for dumbass reasons. Like feeling kriffing sorry for the arsehole who tried to off him. Half a crew of orphaned Jedi and a hapless analyst that has no business being on a warship say that’s the ticket. Not twice, probably, but Pierce should damn well hope they're only going to do this once.

It takes Quinn a few streets to grapple with that battle tactic and find his voice again and when he does Pierce half wishes he hadn’t. “You… you think that will work?”

Pierce makes a sound of pure disgust. “Worked on me, didn’t it? Let’s get you home.”

  
  
  



End file.
